


i can stand you one more night

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, Bottom Louis, Chaptered, Drunk Sex, Feminization, Harry is a idiot, Louis in Panties, M/M, louis is hungover, there is a lot of regret
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 16:12:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2156961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>louis wakes up reeking of disgusting cologne and wiped of his memory. harry is the guy who remembers everything about the previous night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> i really don't know what this is but it was bothering me and i wrote it while watching black jesus so.

prologue

louis woke up partially naked, terrified, and confused. but, it was mostly terrified.  
if he listened close enough, over the obnoxious pounding in his head, he could hear the sounds of pitch perfect on a nearby telly and unfortunately, a bloody baby that seemed eerily familiar.

it was cold, as well, since he found out he was only dressed in an oversized flannel that reeked of sweat and drakkar nior when he looked underneath the thin, green blanket draped over his body. his skin was practically drenched in glitter, and to top everything off, he now could make out the noises of heavy snoring directly next to him.

"what the actual fuck," louis mumbled, sitting up in the twin mattress he was in carefully.

he wasn't able to bring himself to look at the body next to him, although he could make out their frame through his bleary periphial vision. the faraway telly seemed to get louder along with the pounding in louis' head. topping everything off, he felt like vomiting whatever contents were in his stomach and there was a dull yet sharp feeling crawling up the back of his hips and spine.

some of the glitter had gotten onto his tongue and he quickly spat out the small purple stars with a loud noise, causing the lean frame next to him to shift from their slumber. louis winced, glancing at the body that even as he was staring dead on at, he couldn't tell whether it was a bloke or a bird.

it finally came to mind that this gender-less person very well might have been a rapist or a murderer and the twenty-year-old let out a small gasp, scrambling up from the short bed as soundlessly as he was able, causing him to fall onto the carpeted floor of the room.

and, unfortunately, directly into a large puddle of dried come.

"jesus fucking christ!" louis shouts suddenly, eyes widening as the profanities escape his oddly raw lips.

he immediately clamps a hand over his mouth, ignoring the noises of the seemingly sounding child in the next room. seconds after the words leave him, the bed shifts and dips once more and louis gives a muffled whimper as the figure in the bed sits up. another mouthful of glitter moved to inhabit him.

it was a bloke, he realises as the body in the mattress sits up and rubs his fists over his eyes lazily. afterwards, the lad looks around the room as if he was searching for something --or someone -- and even at the oakwood nightstand near the bed, beneath the slightly tacky lamp shaped like a half-moon. louis' idle hand falls into the dried come once more and he groans.

which, of course, causes the boy to look over. louis' eyes widen again as the two.meet each others sight. and he's cute, he is; with light coloured eyes and a red bandana somehow tangled into the wild mess that was his hair but he could have roofied louis and he wouldn't put it past the bloke, especially since he can't remember anything up until that moment.

no one talks for what feels like a century until someone does. "please don't kill me," he murmurs underneath his palm.

the bloke furrows his eyebrows and louis notices a dark love bite on his pale chest, the way that the same green blanket that had been over him was hanging low on his bare hipbones. it was all too much.

"louis, what are you talkin' about?" the bloke asks in a slow voice.

fat amy makes another pun in the other room, louis' hand falls into the dried come puddle, and suddenly, everything goes black.


	2. part one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> louis wakes up again and basically fights for his life.

one

when louis wakes back up, he's no longer fully bare; still in the flannel and a pair of boxers that were just as big as the shirt. he still smells like drakkar noir, although the scent is somewhat faded.

he immediately checks to see if he's in some sort of sex chamber but the thought slowly goes away when he hears the same faint cooing noise and another movie that might've been the great gatsby. the pounding in his head, unfortunately, hadn't gone down and he felt the need of having to vomit grew larger because he was still in the house with the baby and the overplayed movies and the fit, murderous bloke.

after what felt like hours, louis opened his eyes once more, realising that he had been moved back onto the small bed. there were more than one of the thin blankets over his body. his bum still felt like someone had taken a jackhammer to it and the feeling had traveled up to his fucking neck. he could have been exaggerating, but still.

immediately after he did, louis scrambled up off the bed, collapsing onto the floor for the second time that day. he had made sure to not plummet into the dried come. the twenty-year-old quickly moved to pick up a discarded crutch -- looking at the object curiously before he did -- as some sort of weapon although he had never wielded one in his entire life.

it must have looked silly, simply because louis felt like passing out with each step he took and he was more leaning on the crutch than holding it up. at one point, he was certain that he was going to puke or pass out again so he leaned up against a nearby wall, clenching his eyes shut and attempting to block out the still there pounding in his skull.

he hadn't even heard someone come in.

"lou?" a familiar voice asks.

louis' eyes fly open and he nearly falls as he holds the 5'7 sized crutches up although it was physically murdering his limbs. his other hand is shakily pressed onto the white plaster of the wall. the bloke raises his eyebrows the same time as louis gives him what he hopes is a threatening look and holds his hands up.

the two stare at each other, louis keeping his composure even as he felt the boxers shift even lower on his compact hips. the lad is most definitely fit, the college student thinks along with the fact that he needed a cigarette. it shows as he's wearing a wrinkled purple flannel that's identical to louis' with basketball shorts and if louis squints he can make out a few tattoos on his chest.

louis realises that he's staring and thrusts the crutch in the air. "you fuckin' raped me, didn't 'ya?" he questions.

at this point, he knows he looks and sounds like a fool, as he can make out the harsh northern side coming out in his voice. louis quirks an eyebrow instead, and now most of his attention is focusing on not falling. his arse hurts like hell and he's always been quite fast to make assumptions. especially when he can remember nothing.

"i've not raped you," the lad scoffs. "and could you put the crutch down, it's making me nervous."

the twenty-year-old doesn't put the crutch down. "you're a liar and a rapist!" he shouts.

immediately afterwards, the bloke opens his mouth to speak but is cut off by louis letting out a quiet squeal as the crutch slips out of his hand and he falls onto the carpet face first. louis hears quick movements and tries to sit up, failing miserably.

he's going to die, louis is sure of it. the quick movements stop and seconds later, he's being propped up against the wall, face to face with the fit rapist. he's watched dateline, he knows what happens right about then. so, louis reaches up and jabs the bloke in one of his wide, pretty eyes that turned out to be green with his index finger.

"jesus freakin' christ!" the bloke yells and louis winces.

"get the fuck away from me, rapist!" louis shouts back.

he goes to crawl away, expecting a rough grab on the back of his calf since he was very much exposed and feels nothing. a jay-z song plays from the movie in the other room as louis drags his body towards the open door.

it's not until he's in the doorway when the bloke talks again.

"look, my name is harry and i'm in your english lecture!" he says. louis stops. "you bloody blinded me and i'm not a rapist!"

"i'm glad i blinded you, then," louis retorts.

harry lets out a frustrated groan. "i've cleaned up your vomit twice and gave you a bath about four times last night! this isn't american horror story, i've not raped you! it was entirely consensual!"

it takes louis a while to respond, since harry's just admitted to having sex with him and also because american horror story was a peculiar thing to refer to when talking about raping. he could hear the lad still wincing behind him and his finger hurt from the particularly haed jab to his eye.

he could make out the time on a close-by analog clock with the adventure time characters printed behind the thick glass; 12:46. his bum gives another obnoxious throb along with his head and he just really wants to lie down.

"how do i know you aren't a rapist and that i wasn't sodomized last night?" louis quizzes.

"i think the fact that i didn't stab you when you blinded me suffices," harry mumbles behind him.

louis continues to crawl out of the room.

"wait!" harry calls after him. louis looks over his shoulder. "let me make you some tea and i'll explain."

there's a thousand reasons why louis should say no and continue out of the door. harry could decide to roofie him again or even use the tea offer to poison him. but, he feels seconds away from passing out and choking on his own vomit. in fact, he feels like he's going to die and he'd rather die on his own terms than someone elses.

so, he forces his arms to give out and mumbles, "it better be the good tea that you're poisoning me with, mate," into the carpet. he reminds himself to poke harry in the eye again before being killed.

*** 

louis, surprisingly wasn't murdered there and then.

harry carried him to the kitchen by a safe distance, sitting him down in a wooden chair that made his arse feel even worse. he simply quietly cringed. the tea harry had made had milk in it, unfortunately, and currently; louis was sitting across from the bloke who had turned out to be a giant with narrowed eyes, watching him sip from a marilyn monroe printed mug.

"you're not going to drink it, are you?" harry asks after he had taken a sip.

louis is quick to answer, "you aren't going to roofie me twice," he says firmly. "now explain before i call 999."

he gets an eye roll in response to his words. "fine. and it's chamomile, by the way," harry retorts

the twenty-year-old stands up, despite the feeling of dizziness he gets as soon as he does, and moves towards the black iphone that was sat on the marble counter next to the duo. his hands are shaking again.

"love, can you please sit down?" harry questions.

louis turns around, hand placed on his cocked out hip. "don't fuckin' call me love. and you'll not tell me what to do," he sneers.

harry looks up at him, mug still in hand. "okay. i guess i'll start off on how we met."

**Author's Note:**

> kudos, bookmarks, and comments my loves?


End file.
